


The Light At The End Of Tunnel Vision

by Rose_SK



Series: Wit and Haven's Eskel Whump Dump [3]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Angst, Axii (The Witcher), Blind Character, Blind Eskel, Brotherly Affection, Eskel Whump (The Witcher), Family Fluff, Fluff, Gen, Kaer Morhen, Kaer Morhen's Fanon Hot Springs (The Witcher), Somne, Winter At Kaer Morhen, Wolf Pack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-15 19:21:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28818468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rose_SK/pseuds/Rose_SK
Summary: “C’mon big guy, you need to work with us here.”“I’m not leaving this room until Yen’s found a cure,” Eskel maintained stubbornly.“She said it could take her a week! You need to eat. You need to have a bath, I can smell you from here.”Eskel didn’t dignify that last comment with an answer. He knew all Lambert was trying to do was press the right buttons to get Eskel to rise to the bait. No. Eskel plainly refused to leave his room until they figured out how to fix his eyes. He was blind, the Goddess be damned, and the only thing more useless than a blind witcher was - well, Eskel couldn’t come up with a worthy comparison.
Relationships: Eskel & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Eskel & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Lambert, Eskel & Lambert (The Witcher), Eskel & Vesemir (The Witcher)
Series: Wit and Haven's Eskel Whump Dump [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2108274
Comments: 4
Kudos: 60





	The Light At The End Of Tunnel Vision

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CreativWit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CreativWit/gifts).



> Phew. This took me 300 years to write, but it's up and I'm kinda proud of how it turned out? 
> 
> This was a massive leap out of my comfort zone - firstly, there's no romance and secondly, writing a blind character is fucking hard, y'all. 
> 
> This fic is dedicated to the lovely CreativWit (check out her Ao3 and our joined series), without whom this fic would've never existed in the first place. It's not quite what I promised, but I hope you like it anyway. 
> 
> And to everyone else, please sit back, relax and enjoy.

Eskel had the shittest luck. 

He had had a particularly difficult year on the Path. Strenuous contracts, even more difficult contractors who refused to pay up or who blatantly underpaid Eskel simply because they felt like he hadn’t done a good enough job. The war between Nilfgaard and, well, the rest of the Continent had been bad for business as well. Strangers were regarded suspiciously, fewer and fewer people welcoming them into their towns and villages without putting up a fight. Eskel being a witcher had doubly suffered from this generalised paranoia and sometimes getting food and shelter was conditional on him proving himself useful. 

If the Path being a bitch wasn’t enough, the trail to Kaer Morhen was its own headache. It was not uncommon for the wolf witchers heading home to happen upon some monsters that needed dealt with. Mostly foglets, who particularly affectioned the mountainous landscapes of Morhen valley, but also wolves, wild dogs, wyverns and trolls. No witcher was safe from a surprise attack this close to the witchers’ keep. Eskel knew this and it was not like him to let his guard down. In essence, Eskel had had a rough fucking year which probably explained why he let a wyvern take him by surprise.

It had been a difficult fight. This past year had drained Eskel. He was exhausted and underfed, his stamina was depleting quicker than it ought to and even his signs felt strained as Eskel was forced to dig  _ deep  _ within his own chaos in order to cast them. His movements were uncoordinated, bordering on gauche, the laughable excuse for a confrontation probably enough to make the witchers of old turn in their graves with shame. Eventually Eskel managed to take down the beast - luckily he had been dealing with a teenage wyvern who was just as ungainly in his attacks as Eskel was. The beast, however, managed to spit venom at Eskel which the witcher was too slow to dodge.

Luckily Eskel kept a healthy supply of Swallow which he replenished regularly. He also always kept it in the same spot in Scorpion’s saddlebags, namely in case he ever found himself in a situation where he had to rely on his other senses to guide him to the healing potion. Eskel downed two doses of Swallow, which other than soothing the pain did precious little to improve his blurry eyesight. It was a good job also that Geralt had only been two days behind him and found Eskel sprawled next to the wyvern corpse. 

It had been three days, during which Eskel had accumulated a meagre seven hours of sleep, since Geralt found him just off the mountain trail and Eskel  _ almost  _ regretted that the wyvern hadn’t been able to finish him off. 

“Eskel, come on, you can’t stay cooped up in your bedroom until we figure this out!” 

“Like hell I can’t.” Eskel’s words were muffled by his pillow, but he knew that Lambert would be able to hear him anyway. The frustrated sigh that reached Eskel’s ears only confirmed his theory. 

“C’mon big guy, you need to work with us here.”

“I’m not leaving this room until Yen’s found a cure,” Eskel maintained stubbornly. 

“She said it could take her a  _ week _ ! You need to eat. You need to have a bath, I can smell you from here.”

Eskel didn’t dignify that last comment with an answer. He knew all Lambert was trying to do was press the right buttons to get Eskel to rise to the bait. No. Eskel plainly refused to leave his room until they figured out how to fix his eyes. He was  _ blind _ , the Goddess be damned, and the only thing more useless than a blind witcher was - well, Eskel couldn’t come up with a worthy comparison. 

If life could give him one blessing…

“Eskel, c’mon stop being an ass.”

“Lambert, please do me a favour and leave me the fuck alone.”

There was shuffling at the other side of the door and Eskel  _ almost _ let himself believe that Lambert left, but really Eskel should have known better. The benefit - well, whether it truly  _ was  _ a benefit remained to be seen - to losing his eyesight was that Eskel’s other, already enhanced witchers senses were  _ even more  _ heightened. He could hear Geralt’s familiar footfall as the white wolf climbed the stairs and joined Lambert outside Eskel’s door. His nose picked up the scent that had accompanied him through his entire childhood, the distinct smell of fresh snow and hollyhock. Geralt’s smell, unmistakably. Under any other circumstances, Geralt’s presence would have washed over Eskel in calming waves, but-

“Eskel, open the fucking door,” Geralt barked at him, a heavy fist pounding on the door and making Eskel flinch.  _ Fuck _ , that was loud. Even louder than usual. 

Geralt… didn’t handle stressful situations well. At all. Eskel could not think of anything worse at the moment than a fretting Geralt fussing over him 24/7. Geralt was the kind of person who could become…  _ overly  _ helpful in these cases. Admittedly not one of Geralt’s worst qualities, but the last thing he wanted was for Geralt, or Lambert or Vesemir for that matter, to have to put up with him like this. No, Eskel refused to encumber his family. Yennefer was a skilled sorceress and Eskel wholeheartedly believed that she would find a cure promptly. Until then, he would stay in his room and out of everyone’s way. 

Geralt, as was to be expected, would not see things quite the same way as Eskel. 

“Fine, I’m coming in.”

Eskel did not have time to protest that Geralt burst into his room looking dishevelled like he had just climbed the Killer. Eskel groaned at the head-splitting noise of the door hitting the wall with a loud crash. Not being able to see where Geralt was exactly caused the hair on Eskel’s neck to stand on end, even though he knew that objectively the white wolf was no threat. 

“You can’t hide in here forever,” Geralt told him sternly, not unlike a father scolding his child. Eskel didn’t care for the chastising tone. 

“Watch me!” he sniped back. His words pulled an irritated sigh from Geralt. 

“Don’t be stubborn.”

“Pot. Kettle.”

“Fucking hell, Eskel,” Geralt hissed, “do you think this is a joke?” 

Eskel could feel anger rising in him. No, no he didn’t think that  _ anything _ about his predicament was funny and the fact that Geralt was being so damn patronising did precious little to improve Eskel’s mood. His Chaos stirred dangerously deep within him. In Eskel’s experience that was never a good thing. It only ever happened when he was losing control over his own emotions. Right now, unable to see and constantly on edge, his Chaos felt even more unstable than usual. 

“I’m fucking  _ blind _ , Geralt,” Eskel spat, “do you think I’m enjoying this? Do you think I like not knowing exactly where you are right now, even though my room is supposed to be a safe space?”

Geralt was silent for a brief instant and Eskel felt vindicated. Geralt was not good with words, or feelings for that matter. It probably would not have occurred to him to ask himself how the situation made Eskel feel. Eskel did not hold it against Geralt, far from it. He had guessed that the white wolf’s first instinct would be to  _ panic _ . 

“Fuck, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” 

“How are you feeling?”

Eskel pondered the question. He felt tired, mostly. His eyes were not sore anymore, but he still could not make out the world around him despite the Swallow. That was concerning. 

“I’m not sure. I’m worried that I’ll never see again,” Eskel admitted softly. 

“Yen’s working on a cure. She’s convinced you’ll be fine.” Somehow that knowledge did not reassure Eskel much. “Can you, uh… can you see anything at all, or is it just… black?”

“It’s not just black,” said Eskel, struggling to find the right words, “at first it felt like an eyelash had fallen into my eye. My vision started to blur and brighten and settled into a yellowish hue with red lines. Now, it’s… blurry, I guess. I can make out shapes, but it’s like I’m looking at them through very thick fog. It’s… weird.”

“Does it hurt?” Lambert asked, making Eskel jump at the unexpectedness of hearing the youngest witcher address him. Eskel had forgotten that Lambert was still there. 

“No, Lamb. Not anymore. My other senses seem more sensitive now, though. I can hear and smell better. And those damn clothes feel too damn tight.”

“I remember feeling like that after the Trials,” Lambert reminisced, this time sounding much closer, “if I could have crawled out of my own skin I would’ve.”

“Tell me about it,” said Geralt, “after the second trials my skin felt like it was on fire. And my hair kept tickling the inside of my ear, it was driving me insane.”

“I remember that,” Eskel grimaced at the unpleasant memory and added ironically, “good times.”

A companionable silence stretched between them as the three witchers thought back on their shared trauma. Eskel could barely remember the Trial of the Grasses or its aftermath. He remembered the Trial of Dreams very vividly, though. He knew that Lambert was still plagued by nightmares about the Trial of the Mountains, where he lost his only true friend Volthere, and that Geralt to this day couldn’t smell wolfsbane without getting this haunted look in his eyes. 

“We’ve been through some shit, all of us,” Lambert was the first to break the silence, “and you, Kel, you’ve been through worse shit than this. We’ll help you through this, too.”

“You can count on us,” Geralt added in a heartfelt tone.

Despite his brothers’ reassuring words, dread filled Eskel at the thought of facing the next couple of days in his current state.

__________

  
  


Every wolf witcher prided themselves in knowing the ins and outs of Kaer Morhen by heart. In fact, Eskel had often thought himself capable of navigating the keep blindfolded if it came down to it. His temporary blindness - he refused to consider the possibility that his eyes would never fully recover - made it abundantly clear that Eskel didn’t know the castle as well as he thought he did. It had taken several tries for Eskel to be able to orientate himself around his own room without colliding into the furniture. 

It was embarrassing, but not nearly as embarrassing as  _ Geralt  _ offering to help Eskel get dressed and guide him downstairs for breakfast. 

“I can get dressed by myself, Geralt,” Eskel dismissed his brother that morning when Geralt offered his assistance.

“Alright. But I’m helping you down the stairs. No discussion, Eskel.”

Eskel could live with that. Not leaving Geralt a chance to change his mind, Eskel rose to his feet shakily and visualised his room in his mind. His trunk containing most of his clothes was at the edge of the bed. Carefully, Eskel headed in that general direction. He made sure to take little steps, shuffling rather than walking, to avoid his toes colliding with the post of the bed - again. Once had been enough. Eskel tried to ignore the way his cheeks flushed with embarrassment as he felt the weight of Geralt’s eyes on him, watching his every movement and ready to step in if Eskel said the word. 

Eskel refused to say the word. He refused to let his short-term handicap get the better of him. 

Eskel managed to get to the trunk at the foot of the bed, a proud smile tugging at the corner of his scarred lips. “See? I don’t need your help, Geralt,” he told his brother, who only hummed noncommittally in response. Eskel knelt before the chest and lifted the lid, his hand feeling the contents for something vaguely resembling smallclothes, a cotton shirt and britches. He decided that he could forego his fateful gambeson in his current state. Once he had picked his clothes, Eskel fumbled to get rid of his sleeping britches. He was not shy about revealing his body to Geralt - after growing up together, the two brothers had very little secrets for each other. 

Getting dressed was surprisingly easy, everything considered. Eskel had been dressing himself for nearly a century now, he was  _ bound  _ to be able to do this with his eyes closed. It was with immeasurable pride that Eskel leaned onto the now closed trunk and used it as leverage to rise to his feet. He spread his arms wide, displaying his handiwork to Geralt. 

“How do I look?” he asked rhetorically, hearing Geralt snicker…  _ behind _ him. Well even Eskel had to admit that the scene must have been comical for Geralt to watch. 

“Well, your shirt’s on backwards, but other than that you’re good.” 

“Potayto, potahto,” Eskel made a vague gesture with his hand, “don’t be a dick, Geralt.”

“Hmm. Ready to head downstairs?” 

Eskel wasn’t really, but he knew that he didn’t have much of a choice in the matter. If he didn’t agree to go downstairs of his own free will, Geralt would probably  _ carry  _ him all the way down and Eskel could not think of anything more mortifying. Needing to rely on Geralt to navigate the keep was demeaning as it was. No need to add insult to injury. 

“I guess so,” Eskel relented. 

“Alright then.” Eskel heard Geralt step up to him from his right side. “Here. Grab onto my arm.”

“Never knew you to be such a gentleman, wolf,” Eskel teased, mostly to distract from the fact that his cheeks were burning as he hooked his arm with Geralt’s. 

“Well contrary to popular belief, I am not nearly as boorish as people think.”

Eskel let Geralt lead him out of his own room, listening to the soft click of the lock as his door shut behind them. Leaving the safety of his room was disconcerting. Eskel had mapped every square inch of his bedroom in his mind and it was probably the only place in Kaer Morhen he felt comfortable walking around by himself. He could not deny that Geralt’s presence and the firm hold he had on Eskel was reassuring as they walked down the corridor towards the winding set of stairs. 

“Watch your step,” Geralt advised as they both came to a halt. Eskel cautiously stuck his foot out and dropped it onto the lower step. “I’ve gotcha, Kel, don’t worry.”

“I’ll be fine!” Eskel snapped, not meaning to sound so irritated.

“Just saying.”

Eskel gripped so tightly onto Geralt’s wrist all the way down the stairs that he was convinced his hold would leave bruises there. If Geralt minded, he did not make any mention of it. The journey downstairs felt like an eternity but they eventually made it. Eskel pulled away from Geralt irritably, not because of anything Geralt did but because of his own inability to perform such a simple task as walking down stairs. A frustrated sigh tumbled past Eskel's lips as he pawed at his scars. 

"You wanting a break?" Geralt asked kindly but all Eskel could hear was pity. 

"I want to be able to fucking see again," Eskel gritted between clenched teeth, "I want to be able to walk without using you as my crutch."

"Pretty handsome crutch though," Geralt joked and despite his foul mood Eskel felt an amused smile grace his lips. 

"Debatable." 

Geralt, to Eskel's relief, gave him some space to  _ breathe _ . He didn't crowd Eskel's space and he didn't urge him to get a move on either. Eskel took a minute to get his bearings. He felt the cold draught seep through his thin clothes - which probably meant that they weren't far away from the entrance hall and the main castle doors. The smell of freshly baked bread and brewing tea made Eskel's stomach rumble in anticipation. His keen hearing picked up on bits of conversation between Lambert and Vesemir. 

"Alright. I'm ready," Eskel informed Geralt and soon enough the white wolf's arm hooked around Eskel's and both witchers resumed their walk. 

"Papa Vesemir's spoiling us," Geralt remarked fondly, "fresh bread? Can't wait."

"You and me both, wolf."

As Eskel leaned into Geralt's warm body, he felt some of the tension ease in his shoulders. If this was the worst of it, being deprived of his sight for several days wasn't so bad after all. 

__________

Using Geralt as a crutch wasn't the worst of it, as it turned out. Eskel was about to find out that the worst was yet to come. 

When Lambert mentioned Eskel needing a bath, the latter thought the youngest wolf was merely trying to get a rise out of him. Over breakfast Eskel realised that he  _ indeed _ smelled - of sweat, and wyvern blood, and whatever other smells of the Path he hadn't managed to wash off yet. The others were clearly too polite to mention it, or they were walking on eggshells around Eskel because of his new handicap. Eskel didn't care for either scenario.

After breakfast, Geralt and Vesemir took their leave to tend to chores around the keep while Lambert volunteered to take Eskel down to the hot springs. Eskel felt a pang of shame when he caught a whiff of his own pungent body odour and when he realised that Lambert was willingly putting up with it. Or was he? Eskel could not be sure. For all he knew a silent conversation had taken place between Geralt and Lambert over breakfast that he had not been privy to. Eskel never realised just how much he relied on visual cues to read his brothers. Lambert’s frown which sometimes softened in the evenings when they all shared a pint of ale and played cards together. The smile which did not quite reach Geralt’s lips but which was undeniably  _ there _ , a soft upturn of the lip, when his brothers told him about their more successful contracts. The warm glow in Vesemir’s eyes when he gazed absent-mindedly at his three last surviving pups, all together, alive and well under one roof. 

“Kel? You alright there, big guy?”

“You mean other than the fact that I can’t see? Just peachy, Lambert.”

The bitterness in Eskel’s tone was unusual even to his own ears. He was not a bitter man, not in the same way Geralt and Lambert were. He had regrets, of course he did - they all did things that they came to rue in their later years, and yet Eskel had never turned bitter. He was more withdrawn than he used to be, more indecisive when it came to making decisions. Bitterness had never featured until now. 

“Watch your step,” Lambert told him as they reached the hot springs, “you need help, uh… taking your clothes off?”

“No,” Eskel gritted irritably, “I’ll be fine.”

It was unfair to take his anger and resentment at his current predicament out on Lambert, who after all was only trying to help, but Eskel had never taken well to people tiptoeing around him. He didn’t appreciate it after the incident that resulted in the angry-looking facial scars marring his face and he certainly didn’t appreciate it now, either. Eskel silently slipped out of his clothes. 

“I’ll get the soaps ready,” Lambert announced before heading in the opposite direction. Eskel tried to follow the movement with his eyes. He could see an odd shape moving away from him, but his depth perception was near non-existent with the damage his eyes had suffered. Eskel was unable to gauge just how far away Lambert was and his own inability to do so frustrated him more than he cared to admit. A blind witcher. Had anyone ever heard a more pathetic sentence? Eskel felt his stomach twist into a knot as his mind lingered on the possibility that Yen might never find a cure for his blindness. Eskel  _ loved  _ being a witcher. He loved learning about monsters, hunting them down, conducting autopsies, learning about local customs and traditions. He loved helping people, protecting humanity and on some occasions, protecting innocent monsters too. He loved lifting curses and reuniting loved ones. Eskel could not imagine doing anything else with his life. 

The prospect of never regaining his eyesight and giving up on this lifestyle he loved so much was soul-crushing. 

“There it is again,” Lambert exclaimed, making Eskel jump in surprise, “that  _ smell _ .”

“Fuck Lambert, I know I reek, no need to remind me.”

“No, you don’t understand. This smell is different… you smell sad and miserable.” Eskel’s breath hitched in his throat at Lambert’s remark. His throat tightened with all the emotions he could not bring himself to share with his brothers. Eskel could not remember the last time he had felt so exposed. “Hey big guy? Talk to me.”

“What’s that gonna do?” Eskel swallowed thickly past the lump in his throat. “Just help me get in the damned springs.”

Eskel heard Lambert step closer and place a gentle hand on his arm - the touch lighter than he thought the youngest witcher capable of, yet Eskel felt like recoiling deep within himself. He didn’t think that he deserved Lambert’s kindness.

“This alright?” Lambert was referring to his hand on Eskel’s arm.

“I suppose.”

“Just… just let me know when it stops being alright, yeah?”

Eskel sighed in resignation and let Lambert lead him to the warm pools of water. His younger brother crutched him as Eskel sank into the warm water. Eskel could not help the pleased sigh that tumbled past his lips as he let the heat of the water relax his tense muscles. He reflexively closed his eyes at the sensation - but the sudden complete darkness was too overwhelming. It was perhaps foolish, but Eskel did not expect anyone who hadn’t lost the ability to see to understand. His eyes snapped open again, his heart racing in his chest. 

Eskel heard the water splash as Lambert joined him in the pool. 

“Eskel…”

“I’m fine,” Eskel told the younger man before Lambert could enquire about his uncharacteristically fast pulse, “‘m fine, Lamb.”

“Stubborn bastard,” Lambert grumbled under his breath, but Eskel let it slide. “Think you can wash yourself without my help?”

“I’m not a child.”

“I never said you were.”

“Just hand me the soap.”

Lambert grabbed a hold of Eskel’s hand and pressed a bar of soap into the open palm. Eskel thanked him softly and started lathering his arms and chest with soap. His movements were slower than usual as Eskel focused on mapping every inch of his own body, careful not to squeeze the bar of soap too tightly lest it slipped out of his hand and got lost in the warm depths of the pool. Eskel then rose to his feet carefully so he could wash the bottom half of his body. 

“Here, hold this for a bit,” Eskel instructed Lambert as he handed him the bar of soap, “need to wash my hair.”

“Let me do that.”

“Lambert-”

“Stop complaining, old man,” Lambert snapped, though there was no venom in his voice, “let me take care of you, for once yeah? Just relax.”

Eskel, as it turned out, was too tired to argue or to remark on the ‘old man’ comment. He let Lambert pull him across the pool until Eskel was sitting between the younger witcher’s legs, his head tilted back and the back of it resting against Lambert’s firm chest. Eskel kept his eyes open and he vaguely recognised the shape of Lambert’s head and the darker shadow that was the younger witcher’s stubble. 

“Gonna use the pitcher to wet your hair, alright?”

“Don’t need the running commentary.”

“Rather not spook ya, big guy. You may be blind, but I bet you still throw one hell of a punch.”

Despite the embarrassment blooming in Eskel’s chest, a small smile curled the corner of his scarred mouth at Lambert’s words. Both witchers remained silent when Lambert filled a pitcher up with water, which he then used to soak Eskel’s hair. He repeated the action twice more before setting the pitcher away. There was a brief pause during which Eskel felt Lambert’s chest twist as he went to grab something behind him. Soon, however, nimble fingers were massaging Eskel’s scalp and lathering his thick hair with soap. The soothing motion of Lambert’s fingers pulled a guttural groan from Eskel. 

“Mmmmh, sorry,” he apologised weakly just as Lambert’s ministrations pulled another moan from him. 

“Whatever for?”

Eskel did not have an answer for that, and even if he had, it would have been lost in the string of content sighs resulting from Lambert’s actions. Lambert didn’t press the matter as he filled the pitcher with water again and rinsed the soap out of Eskel’s hair. 

“There, all clean,” Lambert announced and Eskel wished he could stay in his younger brother’s warm embrace a while longer. As if sensing his reluctance to move, Lambert wrapped his arms around Eskel’s middle and pulled him closer. His stubbly chin came to rest on the top of Eskel’s wet head and the latter let the steady thudding of Lambert’s heartbeat lull him into a near meditative state. “You can rest for a bit, if you like. I’ll watch over you.”

In the safety of Lambert’s arms, Eskel finally dared to close his eyes. 

__________

  
  


In his current condition, Eskel was exempt from doing any chores. Vesemir’s orders, of course, so no one had dared question or challenge the old wolf’s decision. Eskel hated it, he felt  _ useless _ and disposable. He was not pulling his weight like he ought to. He was merely getting in the way of what needed to be done. Vesemir told Eskel to stay in the library while the others worked on patching up the walls. The old witcher promised to keep him company after he had fed the animals and tended to his winter herb garden. In the meantime, Eskel was left sitting in the cosy library with nothing but his thoughts to keep company. 

He could not tell how long he had been waiting. Could’ve been hours, could’ve been days. The others could have easily forgotten about him… or purposefully left him in the library, away from trouble. Out of sight, out of mind or so the saying went. Eskel clutched at the armrest of the chair, his nails digging into the soft leather. The crackling of the fire in the hearth, the scratching of rats squeezing into holes in the wall, the sound of Eskel’s  _ own fucking heartbeat _ … all these otherwise inconsequent noises were grinding on his nerves. He started to feel irritable. Eskel’s fingers dug deeper into the leather and the resulting crunching noise pulled an exasperated groan from Eskel. 

He had to leave the library. He knew his way to his room from there, he would feel safer in his room. 

Eskel pushed himself out of his seat but kept a hand on the back of the chair for support. The door was to the left of where he was sitting and when Eskel glanced in the direction, he could indeed make out the outline of the door. Eskel was so focused on reaching the exit that he failed to avoid the oak table in the middle of the library. His shin collided with one of the table's legs, pulling a startled hiss from the witcher. Eskel soldiered through the pain and carried onto his trajectory, bumping into various chairs and toppling over piles of books in his wake. When he thought he was close enough to the door, he extended his hand and reached for the handle. It took him several tries but eventually he felt the cold metal under his fingers. He wasted no time tearing the door open and stepping out of the library, away from the irritating noises. Eskel turned left, keeping close to the wall for leverage. His room was down the corridor, third door on the left. 

Eskel did not really know when things got out of hand, but one minute he was convinced that he was headed in the right direction and the next he was curled up on the floor, back pressed against the cold stone wall and knees pulled close to his chest. 

He was panicking. Why? Eskel didn't really know. Perhaps it was days' worth of stress finally catching up with him. Perhaps it was him finally accepting the fact that he might have lost his sight forever. Or perhaps he was simply tired - he hadn't slept properly since the incident, mostly because he couldn't close his eyes without reliving the attack. It didn't matter  _ why  _ he was panicking. He was and that was bad enough. He felt disoriented. Even if he managed to get up again, he wouldn't know which direction to walk in. Tears of frustration welled up in his eyes but Eskel bit down hard on his lip to stop them from running down his cheeks. 

" _ Pup?  _ Pup!" 

Eskel thought he recognised the voice but it sounded fuzzy, like whoever was addressing him was shouting at him from a great distance. Eskel pulled his legs closer to his chest and hid his face in his lap. 

"Go away!" he whispered brokenly. A warm hand came to rest on his forearm and Eskel  _ flinched _ , shying away from the touch both because it had startled him and because it felt like the hand squeezing his arm might actually break a bone. 

“Eskel, it’s me. Vesemir. Come, pup, on your feet.”

Eskel shook his head and refused to move. He could hear the rapid thrumming of his heart in his ears. He could smell Vesemir’s worry, the acrid and pungent odour filling his nostrils and making Eskel feel physically sick. His clothes felt too tight. Eskel wanted to pull his hair out, hoping it would provide some relief. 

“ _ Axii _ . Eskel, pup, calm down. Breathe, there’s a good boy.”

Eskel felt his entire body relax. It was difficult to hex a witcher, but not impossible. Vesemir had many more years of experience under his belt than any of the other wolf witchers. Eskel shouldn’t have been surprised that his mentor was able to use Axii on him. The Sign worked slightly differently on witchers than it did on humans. For instance, Eskel remained partially in control of his thoughts and if he really wanted to he could fight Vesemir’s magic. He didn’t want to fight it, though. Eskel took a deep breath and he felt his shoulders sag with relief. 

“Good, well done pup, well done.” Vesemir’s voice was soothing, warm like a bright summer’s day. “Calm down.”

Vesemir held the sign a minute longer until he was certain that Eskel had calmed down. When he let go, Eskel felt like all the air in his lungs left him at once. 

“What happened, pup?”

“I… I don’t know,” Eskel admitted, his voice raspy and strained, “I.... everything was…. I had to leave the library.”

“Why?” Vesemir prodded gently, the grip on Eskel’s arm loosening a little. 

“It was…. Everything was too much. Too loud, too vivid. I wanted… I needed to go to my room.”

“You still want that?”

Eskel took a minute to think about it, then he nodded.

Vesemir wasted no time after that. He gathered Eskel in his arms and helped the younger witcher to his feet, supporting Eskel’s weight as easily as if he were made of straw. Vesemir wound a strong arm around Eskel’s middle and let the latter lean against him. Eskel was exhausted, his head was spinning, so he let Vesemir drag him to his room. They stepped through his bedroom door quicker than Eskel initially expected - which could only mean that he had been  _ this  _ close to his destination before his meltdown. Shame washed over Eskel at the thought. He was a pathetic excuse for a witcher. 

“I’m setting you down on your bed, pup,” Vesemir warned him before lowering Eskel onto the soft straw mattress, “there we go. How are you feeling?”

“Like shit,” Eskel admitted. Vesemir encouraged Eskel to lay down on his back, which the latter only reluctantly allowed. 

“When was the last time you slept?”

“Last night.”

“Liar.” Eskel grimaced at the stern tone. He felt like a young boy again, being scolded for stealing a jar of honey from the kitchen. “Eskel, you need to rest. Your mind and body are constantly on edge. You’re exhausted.”

“I can’t. It’s… I can’t relive this again.”

“Nightmares are the manifestation of unaddressed fears. Acknowledging that fear is the only way to stop the nightmares.” Eskel’s bed dipped as Vesemir sat down at the edge of the mattress. “So tell me, pup. What is it that scares you? You killed the wyvern, so unless you’re worried his friends will come and find you here that’s not what’s causing the nightmares.”

Eskel turned away from Vesemir and curled up into a foetal position. His life was a living nightmare, what with being blind, being forced to rely on other people but also feeling inadequate and disposable. The only way for this nightmare to end was to recover his eyesight, and well… that might never happen. Yen had been working on a cure for over a week now and still had to come up with positive results. 

“Eskel?”

“Please don’t make me say it out loud,” he begged softly, curling further into himself. 

“Yen will find a way,” Vesemir assured him in a tone that left no room for argument.

“What if she doesn’t?”

“She will.”

“Vesemir-”

“None of that, pup.” Vesemir rested a grounding hand on Eskel’s shoulder. “You need to sleep. Forgive me for what I’m about to do.  _ Somne _ .”

Before Eskel had a chance to fight it, Vesemir’s sign forced him into a dreamless sleep. 

__________

Two days later, late in the morning, a loud crashing sound not unlike a clap of thunder resonated against the bare walls of the dining hall. The noise was accompanied by a 6 foot tall portal which glowed yellow and orange. Seconds later, the portal disappeared and revealed the sorceress Yennefer standing in the middle of the hall, clad in a black dress and cloak, her violet eyes catching the warm glow of the fire roaring in the hearth. 

“Ah, Yennefer,” Vesemir greeted her warmly, ignoring Lambert’s sneer and Geralt’s startled cursing, “how are you, my child?”

“In a hurry,” the sorceress supplied dryly, “forgive me for my unannounced visit, Vesemir. I haven’t slept much the past week trying to find a cure for Eskel’s condition. Here.” The sorceress handed Vesemir a vial filled with a light-blue, near translucent liquid.

“And we’re grateful for your help, Yennefer.” Vesemir pried the vial from Yen’s delicate fingers, his medallion vibrating when he came too close to the powerful sorceress. “Eskel has been asleep for the past two days, but if he were awake-”

“I know,” Yen interrupted him, a small smile gracing her full lips, “unlike some of the wolf witchers I know, Eskel’s never forgotten his manners around me. Feed him the contents of the vial and wash it down with tea. It’ll taste better. The potion should work instantly. Gentlemen, you’ll excuse my bluntness, but I need to attend a meeting with the Lodge. Top secret, you’ll understand. Please pass my warmest regards on to Eskel.”

“We shall, Yennefer. Thank you, for everything.”

Vesemir, Geralt and Lambert watched Yen disappear through one of her portals. Only once the portal vanished into thin air did Vesemir turn to face his two other pups still sitting at the table. 

“You heard Yennefer. Get a mug of tea ready and meet me upstairs.

__________

When Eskel woke up late that afternoon, he felt…  _ different _ . For one, he felt rested and a little less like death warmed up. How long had he been sleeping? Eskel couldn’t tell for sure. All he remembered was Vesemir forcing him into a much-needed, albeit artificial sleep. Eskel let out a content sigh as he turned around in bed and slipped deeper under the covers. He felt like indulging in a long-lie, just so he could escape reality for a little while longer. Eskel was still halfway between sleep and wakefulness, which was why he didn’t notice the witcher sitting in a chair at his bedside until Geralt greeted him in his rough baritone voice.

“How’re you feeling?”

“‘m sleepin’,” came Eskel’s mumbled response. 

“You’ve been asleep for two days, Kel.”

“And you’re the only person keeping me from making that  _ three  _ days,” Eskel retorted moodily, pulling the sheets over his head in the hope of drowning out the grating sound of Geralt’s voice. 

“Well Vesemir wants to see you downstairs in ten. You’ve missed too much training as it is, we need to rectify that.”

Eskel paused at those words. Was Geralt taking the piss? How could Eskel train when he couldn’t see? He could barely get dressed without tripping over his own feet.

“If that’s your idea of a joke, it’s in very poor taste,” Eskel muttered under his breath.

“Eskel… look at me.”

“What the fuck, Geralt?”

“Don’t you trust me?” the white wolf asked, his tone growing serious. Eskel tightened his hold around the sheets, his lips pursed into a thin line.

“Of course I trust you, but-”

“If you trust me, then look at me.”

Eskel hesitated, wondering if this was all part of an elaborate dream. He heaved a resigned sigh before pulling the sheets to the side, not daring to open his eyes immediately. If Geralt was asking this of him, he probably had a reason. Geralt wasn’t a cruel man. Eskel trusted his brother, he did. 

Eskel took a composing breath before opening his eyes. 

The bright light hurt his eyes, but once his pupils had adjusted to the light Eskel’s breath caught in his throat. He could  _ see  _ Geralt, sitting in a chair next to the bed and a small smile tugging at the corner of the white wolf’s lips. Eskel could  _ see  _ the light of the low winter sun filtering through the thin curtains. He could  _ see  _ the fire roaring in the hearth, could  _ see  _ his own two hands shaking with barely contained excitement. 

Eskel could  _ see _ . 

Well, at least he could until his eyes filled with relieved tears that briefly blurred his vision. 

“How?”

“Yen brought the cure when you were asleep. We fed it to you when you were asleep. We wanted to surprise you when you woke up and -”

Geralt didn’t get to finish his sentence that Eskel was scrambling out of bed and tackling Geralt to the ground and pulling the white wolf into a bear hug. Eskel laughed, yes  _ laughed _ , fuck he couldn’t remember the last time that had happened. His face broke into the widest smile and Eskel didn’t care if the action tugged grotesquely at his scars, nor was he concerned about the tears of happiness trailing down his cheeks. Because he could  _ see  _ and the relief was so intense that Eskel could weep for days. 

“He’s awake? Pretty boy, you were supposed to come get me  _ immediately _ ,” Lambert whined, catching Eskel’s attention. The prickly wolf stood in the doorway, an easy smirk playing on his lips as his and Eskel’s eyes met. Eskel quickly abandoned Geralt in favour of hurling himself at Lambert and pulling his younger brother into one of his signature bone-crushing hugs. 

“Lambert! I can see!”

“You sure can, big guy,” Lambert wound his strong arms around Eskel’s shoulders, his grin growing into a heartfelt smile at his brother’s happiness, “damn, it’s good to have you back.”

“I thought I said I wanted all of you downstairs in ten. What’s the hold up?” 

Eskel spotted Vesemir over Lambert’s shoulders. He reluctantly pulled away from Lambert and went into Vesemir’s inviting arms. Eskel clung to his mentor, his eyes filling with tears once again but this time he managed to blink them away. Vesemir’s hand cupped the back of Eskel’s neck before bringing their foreheads together in an affectionate gesture. 

“You’re alright, pup. It’s over.”

Eskel nodded, not trusting his voice in that moment. He swallowed past the lump of emotion in his throat before pulling away from Vesemir and turning to face his two brothers. 

“Thank you. All of you, for everything. I don’t know where I would’ve been without you.”

“Probably dead, your corpse rotting next to a stinking wyvern,” Lambert bluntly stated, earning himself a loud smack from Geralt up the back of his head. 

“Very smooth, jackass.”

“Am I  _ wrong _ ?” Lambert challenged before elbowing Geralt in the ribs. 

“The point is,” Eskel interrupted their bickering, “that I’m lucky to have all of you. And I’m grateful that you all put up with me.”

Eskel knew that he probably could never make it up to Geralt, Lambert and Vesemir. He could probably never repay them for their patience, their kindness and their helpfulness when Eskel was at his lowest. He could never thank his family enough for not giving up on him when they could’ve easily tossed Eskel aside. 

Eskel also knew that his family would never expect him to repay them for looking out for him. They were a pack, after all, and the wolf witchers would always have each others’ backs until the day they died.

END. 


End file.
